


The Fixings

by hpotps



Category: Naruto
Genre: Delivery Boy!Kiba, M/M, Southern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29761410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpotps/pseuds/hpotps
Summary: Kiba is a delivery boy for a small town in South Georgia. Kankuro is a recluse that no one can quite prove exists, who orders a lot of packages. Cue homosexual shenanigans.
Relationships: Inuzuka Kiba/Kankurou
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	The Fixings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kranquro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kranquro/gifts).



> Thank you to my lovely beta reader, Kranquro. Much love.

The sun was beating down the day that Kiba made the decision to cross the ethical line of package delivery and ask the recipient about the box in his hands. His back and neck were sweaty from the summer heat, but his palms were sweaty from the nerves. He had been instructed by Missus Kurenai to never question the recipients about their deliveries, and the way she had said it made it feel like a very illegal line to cross. But maybe he was just scared of her. She had, admittedly, also told him he would be gunned down if he ever pet a neighbors horse without permission, but that had yet to happen, so perhaps it would be okay.   
  


Perhaps.   
  


He justified his decision with the absolute fact that Kankuro, the man whose door he was about to knock on and (potentially) commit a crime with, was nothing short of a local legend in the town of The Rock, Georgia. Among the massive population of 179 people, and the rolling acres of land between neighbors, Kankuro had managed to stretch the definition of recluse to its wit’s end.   
  


There were three things that anyone in the town knew of Kankuro. One, no one could remember what he looked like, but everyone was willing to swear on their squash and okra that they had seen him at least  _ once _ before. Two, that he did not attend Sunday service at any of the 27 churches in their town. (One day, Kiba would question why a community of 179 people needed  _ twenty-seven  _ churches, but a Tuesday was not the day to be opening that can of worms.) And three, that he moved to their town eight years ago in a shocking purchase of all 18 acres and the only three homes on Holly Lane.   
  


‘ _And four_ ,’ Kiba thought to himself, ‘ _That he, alone, ordered more packages than the entire population of their town_ **_combined_**.’ Though, he had good reason to believe this was not common knowledge considering only four people worked at the post office, including himself.  
  


So, ethics be damned, Kiba wanted to know why Kankuro needed so much land and so many packages. And, admittedly, he did want to know what the man looked like. He felt like he had a specific image of him in his mind, already. Like  _ he _ had already seen the man in passing, but didn’t get a good enough look to recall his features.   
  


With a shaky resolve and a false sense of confidence, Kiba wiped his sweaty palms on his work shorts and grabbed the door knocker, raising it and striking it against the door three times. He wished he could see through the windows to know if anyone was home, but the curtains were drawn tight shut like they always were, and Kiba had never seen a car here in his 6 years of delivering packages to this address. Which was impressive considering he was here almost every day. Frankly, Kiba’s only proof that Kankuro (or at least, someone) lived here was that the mailbox and package drop were empty every time he returned, signaling that they had been brought inside.   
  


He heard no noise to indicate that a person was home and was just about to abandon the idea when he heard a chain-lock sliding and the deadbolt unlocking. Kiba took a deep breath to steel his nerves and firm his resolve.   
  


The door creaked open and immediately at his eyeline was a pair of slightly swaying  _ legs _ , dangling in the dark. Strangely, they were brown and lacquered, but Kiba could hardly see through the gnawing fear inside him. His terror only amplified when a pale face smeared with-  _ dear God is that blood?! _ \- cut across his vision to appear in the gap.   
  


Professionalism be damned. He was not going to die on a Tuesday. No sir.  
  


He screamed at the top of his lungs, tripping over his own two feet and using the package to break his fall. Which was extremely rude, but desperate times called for desperate measures.   
  


Still screaming, he shoved the package aside, scrambled on all fours to the banister and hiked himself up and over the edge. He fell fourteen feet to the ground and landed flat on his face in the muddy mulch, missing the thorny rose bushes by mere inches. He stood up, spat the mud out of his mouth and made a dead sprint to the truck. Thank  _ God _ he left it running.   
  


He didn’t stop screaming until he was successfully on Piedmont Road with Holly Lane several echoes behind him.  
  


He was  _ never _ going back there.  
  


~8~  
  


The next morning, Kiba was sorting his deliveries and thinking of a way to convince his coworker-turned-best-friend to trade routes. Holly Lane, and thus Kankuro, for the Church Belt. He thought it was a fair trade considering the latter consisted of three churches (one protestant, one baptist, and one catholic) that had been at war with each other for so long that they were constantly trying to convert anyone that set foot on their property- even their regular attenders. At this point, he would rather deal with the harassment than ever show his face in front of Kankuro again.   
  


“You’re slow.” Shino commented baldly.   
  


Caught stalling, Kiba sighed. “Can you do me a favor?”  
  


“Usually,” Shino said. It was amazing how cryptic Shino could sound when he genuinely only ever said what was on his mind, no ulterior motives or hidden messages to be found.   
  


“I was wondering if I could trade part of my route with you?”  
  


“You arrived covered in dirt after your route yesterday.” Shino said, seeing through Kiba like glass.  
  


Kiba glanced around conspiratorially, looking for signs of Kurenai. Shino leaned in casually- which was his equivalent of bouncing on his heels. Seeing no signs of their boss, he fessed up. “I wanted to know more about Kankuro, so I decided to ask him about one of his packages.” Shino put the letter down that he had been in the process or sorting, and if Kiba really tried, he could imagine what it would sound like if Shino ever actually gasped. “And when he opened the door- dude- there were  _ legs _ . They were hanging on the wall like some kind of taxidermy-”   
  


“You didn’t call the police.” Shino said.  
  


Swallowing thickly, Kiba looked around again to make sure they were alone. Satisfied, he turned back to Shino and leveled him with an intense stare, dropping his voice even further. “Because he’s a ghost, Shino,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.  
  


Shino stared at him, sunglasses doing nothing to shelter Kiba from the depths of his gaze. With 5 years of friendship under their belt, Kiba could easily see the ‘what the fuck’ written all over his blank face.   
  


The silence stretched between them, Kiba’s sincere expression falling into embarrassed foolishness, and Shino’s vacant expression remaining perfectly still. A clear indication that he was not having it. Kiba laughed awkwardly.   
  


“How,” Shino said mutely, finally taking pity on his best friend, “does a ghost pay for a package?”  
  


It was like Shino slapped him in the face. Kiba reached up to gingerly touch his face, pouting. “ _ I  _ don’t know,” he said petulantly, “ _ I’ve  _ never been a ghost before. Maybe that’s why some people want to be buried with their money.”  
  


Shino’s head tilted to the side just slightly and Kiba could actually hear him thinking, ‘Oh honey.’  
  


He pouted, “Don’t give me that look. Can you just deliver his packages from now on? Ghosts scare me.”  
  


“The legs,” Shino redirected, “Was there any blood?”  
  


Kiba rolled his eyes, “They were  _ severed from a body _ .” He said with such finality that he puffed his chest up in pride. But after Shino continued to stare at him, clearly not satisfied with Kiba’s half answer, he sighed. He opened his mouth to defend his statement and faltered.  _ Had _ there been any blood? It was too dark to tell. But now that he actually thought about it, he could remember the distinct scent of cedar and sawdust. And Kiba, a man who found it very hard to forget a smell, was willing to bet that wasn’t what dead bodies smell like.   
  


The blush on his cheeks was a result of the rising temperature in their too-cold mailroom, obviously. “ _ No _ .” He said- not at all petulant, that’s for sure. “Look, will you just-”  
  


“Kankuro’s deliveries are well within your loop and far out of mine. Hinata would never approve.” Shino said clinically.   
  


“She’s our friend, she would do it.” Kiba tried.  
  


“She’s more scared of Kurenai than you and I,” Shino said.  
  


“She’s the one that  _ hired _ Kurenai.” Kiba said, and he was  _ not _ whining. “Plus, she’s super rich, it’s not like she needs to be afraid of losing her job.”  
  


“Hinata did not hire Kurenai, she filed her hiring paperwork.” Shino said, “And she is our precious friend, you should not wish termination on her.” When Kiba groaned, Shino continued. “Kurenai is a former military personnel agent with a completely sealed record whom Hinata has to work in a cramped office with all day. We get to leave for the majority of the day. Her fear is not unwarranted.”  
  


Kiba really hated when Shino made things all logical. Couldn’t he see that Kiba, his precious friend, was distraught?  
  


“Can’t you just-” Kiba was ready to try again, because Shino’s only weakness in his rational and responsible defenses was his inability to turn Kiba down as many times as Kiba was willing to keep asking. It was a petty war of attrition, but of the many things Kiba considered himself ‘above that’ was not one of them.  
  


Unfortunately, Kurenai was going to win this war for Shino today. “Boys?” She asked, and both men stiffened. “Is everything alright? You normally finish your sorting by now.”  
  


As impressed as Kiba was with Shino, he was even more impressed with Kurenai’s ability to be dangerous yet perceived as concerned. The one time she had hugged Kiba (his 25th birthday two years ago), he actually thought she was going to stab him. When she let him go, he realized the reason he wasn’t breathing was because he was holding his breath and not because he was dying. Kurenai had laughed at his terrified expression and ruffled his hair, saying, “You don’t have to be scared of me! You would have known by now if I wanted to kill you. We’re friendly.”  
  


Veterans, am I right?  
  


“Yes ma’am,” Kiba said, too brightly, “Just sleepy. We’re wrapping up now!”   
  


~8~  
  


Having his nerves flayed by a cheesegrater would have been a more pleasant experience than the thudding of his heart and trembling of his hands. He pulled into the gravel drive and stopped at his usual spot by the mailbox. To his dismay, the package scheduled for delivery would not fit in the mailbox or package drop, and therefore, would have to be left on the porch. He sincerely hoped a snake would bite him on his way and he would drop dead in the lawn. But then what if  _ he _ became a ghost and was stuck on Kankuro’s land forever?  
  


He took a deep breath to clear his mind and hopped out of the car with the heavy package. Full of dread, he dragged his feet up the stone pathway toward the wooden stairs that lead to the porch. A few more steps and he could drop off this package and get the hell out of dodge.  
  


Then, something moved in his peripheral. He did  _ not  _ jump, because he was  _ not _ scared.  
  


He took a few steps back to peek into the backyard. From this angle he could see what had startled him- I mean, caught his eye. It was a very pale man in a black tank top with freckles dusted across his shoulders. His very nice, very strong, very broad shoulders. If Kiba had been a better person, his thoughts would end there, but Kiba was not. And he couldn’t help thinking that he wanted to sit on those shoulders.   
  


Kiba wondered if it was possible Kankuro had an attendant or roommate that managed the land for him. The yard was always cut low, rose bushes always well kept, but Kiba never saw someone tending to the property. Perhaps this man with  _ very _ nice shoulders was a kind, not-ghost worker that Kiba could wheedle information out of. Deciding he could drop the package off discreetly and research landscapers this evening, Kiba took a step forward and onto a branch that snapped  _ so _ loudly. He looked down at it in shock and when he looked back up to see if the landscaper had noticed, he was  _ devastated _ to make direct eye contact with the man. The super hot man that Kiba had (definitely  _ not _ ) intended on stalking.  
  


With a strangled chuckle, Kiba tried to smile but he was pretty certain his face was more of a grimace. “Hello!” He choked out, heart pounding harder now because the man, who could only be Kankuro, was walking toward him and was  _ definitely _ going to murder him. He swallowed only to notice that his mouth was dry. Kankuro was looking at him with a shy smile and beckoned Kiba to come closer. His manners told him that he could not refuse, so he jerkily made his way to the chain-link fence surrounding the admittedly flourishing backyard garden. As he approached, he noticed Kankuro was holding a bowl of blackberries.   
  


“Hello,” Kankuro said when Kiba was close enough. Kiba was surprised to hear that the man did not have a southern accent. This was unusual considering even Hinata had picked up a light Georgian twang, and she’d only been here for a couple years from overseas.   
  


“I’m...Hi.” Kiba said awkwardly.  
  


Kankuro looked at him blankly. Kiba wondered, for a wild moment, if that was why Shino wore sunglasses all the time, because under the full weight of a gaze  _ this _ inscrutable, Kiba felt completely naked. “Right now?” Kankuro asked, “On the job?”  
  


Kiba’s mind was fighting through his anxiety to understand what he was asking about. “I-” The realization of what he had just said hit him like a ton of bricks. “OH!” He exclaimed, “I meant to say, ‘um, hi’ not ‘I’m high’.”  
  


“I would say hello to you but then we would both be repeating ourselves.” Kankuro said, and his gaze seemed to soften, like they were sharing a secret joke, except Kiba wasn’t in on it. “Is that mine, then?” He gestured at the package, popping a blackberry into his mouth and opening the fence gate to accept the delivery.   
  


“Y-yes.” Kiba stuttered, looking down at the package in his hands. He was handing the package over to Kankuro when he yanked it back to himself suddenly. This was labeled for  _ Kevin _ on  _ Piedmont Road _ , which looked nothing like Kankuro on Holly Lane. Fucking fantastic. “I mean no,” He said, holding the package close to his chest, concerned that Kankuro would notice the mistake and kill him for it. “Yours is in the truck.” He said, turning on his heel and  _ not _ running back to his truck.   
  


He climbed inside and set Kevin’s package down on the seat, looking through the packages in the back for Kankuro’s. Except, there  _ wasn’t _ a package for Kankuro. And Kiba had already told Kankuro that he  _ did _ have a package. He leaned back and chanced a glance through the windshield at Kankuro, who was leaning casually on the fence post, poking through the blackberries.   
  


Kiba turned back to the mail bins in the truck, desperate to find a box that he knew would not be there. So, settling for the next best thing, Kiba ripped off a sheet from his small notepad (the one he kept in his truck to log his miles, breaks, and hours) and scribbled a hasty ‘Hello!’ on it before folding it in half and stuffing it into a spare envelope. He wrote Kankuro’s name and address in the center and then his name and address in the return before he realized he  _ should not _ have done that. Kankuro would see his name patch and would know the letter was from  _ him _ . He was about to pick up another envelope when he realized there wasn’t one. Then he turned his pencil over to erase the name and address, but  _ then _ he realized it would obviously look like he’d written and then erased his own name, which was more embarrassing than just leaving it.   
  


Ultimately, it was the fact that he was aware he had been gone for too long already that made the decision for him. So, with his name and address, no stamp, and a piece of scrap paper with only one word written on it (one that he realized he had already been called out for repeating  _ after _ he had sealed the envelope) all wrapped up into one hasty letter, Kiba got back out of his truck and walked back up to Kankuro. He handed the letter over, trying not to be anymore embarrassing than he’d already been.   
  


Kankuro looked at the letter curiously, taking it with hesitation. “No one’s ever written me a letter before.” He said, just as Kiba was about to make his break for it.   
  


Kiba knew that letters were uncommon in most parts of the world nowadays, but  _ everyone _ in The Rock had received a letter for something at some point. If nothing else, the Church Belt was always sending out pamphlets. But then, with a shock, Kiba realized that he had never dropped an envelope of any kind in Kankuro’s mailbox. Only packages that came in varying box sizes.   
  


“There’s a first time for everything!” Kiba said, barking out a laugh to mask his increasing mortification. “Bye!” He said suddenly, unable to bear it any longer, and he walked as quickly as he could back to his truck.   
  


Yeah, the cheese grater would have been  _ vastly _ superior. Where was a snake in the lawn when you needed one?  
  


~8~  
  


Two days later was a Friday, which was Kiba’s favorite day of the week because it was the day Hinata went over the postage statistics which meant Kurenai was bringing donuts (“The ones I haven’t poisoned,” she liked to say, which never got less scary). So, with powder on his cheeks, and three donuts in his belly, Kiba was having a lovely start to his day. The meeting was the same as all the others- there was no room in the federal budget to support their office staying open, but they were the only post office in their town limits, so they would remain open. Kiba used to be stressed about running their office at a deficit, but when he realized that his paycheck kept coming and the people had a free service that made sure to get their mail to them on-time, every time, he decided he didn’t need to care. Mail contained necessary information, and the internet was spotty out here so it wasn’t like everyone could go paperless.   
  


When Hinata had dismissed them to begin sorting their mail, Kiba and Shino went down to the mailroom and fell into their quiet routine. Yesterday, Kankuro had not received a package either, which was odd because Kiba genuinely could not remember the last time he had gone two days without a proper delivery for him.   
  


Then, something strange happened.   
  


“Kiba,” Shino said, “This is for you.”  
  


Since Kiba’s house was on Shino’s route, Kiba found it odd for him to hand over the mail directly. Nothing had ever come urgently enough for him that he couldn’t just check it when he got home. With an arched brow, he accepted the letter.  
  


Kiba wondered if the coroner would laugh if he knew that he was ready to drop dead from the sheer volume of butterflies that had suddenly arrived in his stomach and chest.   
  


It was addressed from Kankuro.  
  


Kiba opened it hastily and pulled out the full sheet of paper. On it, all it said was,  
  


“Dear Kiba,  


Hello yourself.  


Sincerely,

Kankuro”   
  


Kiba turned the letter around to see if there was anything written on the back. There was not. He laughed. ‘ _ What the fuck? _ ’ he thought.   
  


For some reason, Kiba couldn’t stop smiling the whole way through his route. Not even the unforgiving summer sun could put a dampener on his goofy grin.   
  


~8~  
  


When he arrived at Kankuro’s gravel driveway that afternoon, he double-checked the package- Kankuro this time, not Kevin- and then opened the mailbox to drop it off.   
  


Then, he hesitated.  
  


He remembered the letter-  _ sincerely, Kankuro _ \- and dumbly unbuckled his seat belt, walked up the stone pathway, and climbed the steps onto the porch where he used the door knocker once more. He waited for the sound of the chain lock, growing increasingly anxious as each second trudged by.   
  


Sighing in defeat, he turned and began walking away, before he realized he still had Kankuro’s package in his hands. He turned back around and was about to leave it on his welcome mat when he heard the undeniable sound of the chain lock being undone. He scrambled to his feet and managed to take a deep breath and fix a shaky smile to his face when it happened.  
  


The door opened, and Kankuro was standing on the other side, wearing only a towel and holding a kettle that was still steaming at the lip. Kiba’s face went bright red and he was pretty sure the heat had short circuited his brain, because he was staring at Kankuro’s collarbone and all he could think was, ‘ _ Oh, right. It’s snack time _ ’. Which was  _ so _ not the thing to be focused on when he could see the water droplets tracing the column of Kankuro’s neck.   
  


Then, to make matters infinitely worse, Kiba licked his lips. Except he  _ was _ actually licking his lips because his mouth was dry because it was seriously hot, and he had forgotten his water bottle in the mailroom, and Kankuro was holding a kettle of tea, and Kiba was genuinely parched.   
  


But none of that mattered because Kankuro was mostly naked and Kiba just licked his lips after  _ staring at his neck _ . He almost turned around and jumped off the balcony again.   
  


Here’s the best part though, it gets  _ worse _ . You see, Kiba had opened his mouth to explain himself when he caught a whiff of freshly baked bread and his stomach  _ immediately _ thundered its approval. And it did so for a  _ while _ .   
  


Kiba wanted to turn to dust.   
  


But then, the most amazing thing happened. God smiled down on him, and, through Kankuro’s words, He washed Kiba in forgiveness. “Would you like to come in for tea and jammed bread?  
  


“Y-yes?” Kiba said. Whether his voice cracked or not was entirely irrelevant.  
  


“Come on,” Kankuro said, a small grin on his face. He turned around and walked into the dark home, leaving the door open for Kiba to follow. In a display of bravery he did not feel, Kiba stepped inside. “Lock the door behind you,” Kankuro called over his shoulder.   
  


Kiba knew this was a trap. He knew, in his bones, that Kankuro was an axe murderer. He knew, unlike in his premonitions about Kurenai, that Kankuro actually  _ was _ going to kill him. While he turned the deadbolt and slid the chain lock into place, he wondered if Hana would make good on her promise to look after Akamaru.  
  


The home was dim, the blackout curtains at war with the summer sun. His heart thundered in his ears and he stood on the entry mat for a minute, unsure what to do with his hands in his final moments.   
  


“Sorry for my state of undress, I was rushing out of the shower to take the kettle off the stove when I heard you knocking.” Kankuro said, emerging from the shadowy doorway of the kitchen. Kiba’s eyes were slowly adjusting and he could make out the fridge behind the man. “You can set that anywhere.” Kankuro said. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to put some clothes on, make yourself at home.”   
  


Kiba nodded jerkily in reply and looked around for a place to put the package, but then he saw that there  _ was _ no place to put it. Every table, bench, and chair in the room was covered in human parts. Kiba dropped the package when he saw a pair of  _ eyes _ on a table.  
  


He turned around, hand on the door, ready to bolt, when he heard Shino’s voice in his head- ‘Was there any blood?’  
  


Kiba took a deep breath and coughed from the density of the sawdust floating in the air. He surveyed the eyes more closely. They weren’t dead, they were  _ painted _ . With a shock like jumping into a cold pool, Kiba realized these weren’t bodies, they were puppets.   
  


Many,  _ many _ puppets.   
  


Kiba set down the package next to the head that had frightened him before. He was about to pick it up when something caught the corner of his eye and he jumped in fright.  
  


He spun so quickly he nearly fell over. There was a woman hanging on the wall. ‘ _ Not a woman _ ,’ Kiba thought, trying to calm down, ‘ _ a puppet _ .’ He moved closer to her when he realized what had frightened him. The woman looked so  _ lifelike _ , even up close. Kiba wondered if it was the dim lighting, but his eyes had already adjusted and he felt he could see all the details of her face so clearly. She was smiling, and it looked  _ tender _ .  
  


‘ _ Sincerely, Kankuro _ ,’ Kiba thought. His fear was beginning to settle as it all started making sense. The reclusive man was a puppeteer, not an axe murder. He reached up, brushing the woman’s hair back- ‘ _ Soft _ ,’ his mind supplied.  
  


“Don’t touch that.” Kankuro said sharply. Kiba might have actually yelped in fright.  _ Might have.  
  
_

“Pleasedon’tkillme!” Kiba gasped out, ducking with his arms up above his face.   
  


“What?” Kankuro asked.  
  


Kiba lowered his arms and saw Kankuro giving him an odd look with two mason jars of sweet tea, and a plate of sliced bread with butter and two kinds of jam on it- one red and one a deep purple. All the fixings for a great sandwich. “Sorry,” He squeaked, rushing to cover his- understandable!- fear. Kiba crossed the room and reached out to take the jars from Kankuro.  
  


“You don’t have to-” Kankuro said, but Kiba cut him off.  
  


“It’s only good manners.” He said, grateful for the dim lighting that he hoped was hiding his blush. Kankuro was wearing a tanktop again, with ripped jeans, and fingerless gloves- all black. Kiba noticed he was barefoot. He did  _ not _ notice the size of Kankuro’s arms,  _ nor _ did his eyes get briefly-  _ briefly _ \- stuck on the spot of Kankuro’s neck where the water droplet had been when Kiba was on the other side of the door.   
  


Before he could make an even bigger fool of himself, Kiba turned around and moved out of Kankuro’s way so his host could decide where they were to sit. On the other side of the fireplace, there was a two-seat threadbare sofa in the corner under the windows. It was in the darkest part of the room, so Kiba hadn’t noticed it at first.  
  


When Kankuro had created enough space for the plate of bread and mason jars to sit on the table, Kiba placed them down gently and sat on the couch, sinking a lot further than he anticipated. His surprise and relief at sitting on something so comfortable jumbled up his communication skills so that he ended up groaning, “Whoa.”  
  


“Comfortable?” Kankuro asked, moving one of the mason jars to his side of the table.   
  


“Very.” Kiba said. Then, remembering how hungry he was, he leaned forward and picked up a slice of bread. He opted to go for the darker, smoother looking jam.   
  


“Don’t touch that,” Kankuro said, and Kiba was reminded that he was still, at least a little, afraid. “It’s not food.” He explained. “I was using the plate so I didn’t have to carry it.” He lifted the wooden bowl up and put it down on the table directly, then he leaned close to the floor and turned a switch on a cord. The room flooded with light and Kiba had to blink several times to adjust. The light came from a foil-lamp that was aimed at a workbench that had more puppet pieces on them.   
  


Kankuro was nudging Kiba with the butter dish. Kiba looked at it, grateful that the spots in his vision had faded. He scooped some up and buttered his bread, and when he placed the knife back into the dish, his hand brushed Kankuro’s.   
  


Kiba’s heart was thundering in his ears again, but he didn’t think it was fear anymore.  
  


He chanced a glance at Kankuro and when they made eye contact, Kiba gasped quietly. How was it possible that everyone in their town believed they had seen him but couldn’t recall his facial features. Upon looking at Kankuro,  _ really _ looking at him, Kiba knew he would never forget his face.   
  


Kiba knew that, while he had turned out to not be a ghost, Kankuro would indeed haunt his dreams.   
  


“Are you alright?” Kankuro asked.   
  


Kiba didn’t know how to answer that question, so he shoved the bread into his mouth and nodded emphatically. He was delighted to note that the jam was raspberry, his favorite.  
  


Kankuro, the saint he was, did not comment on this. He grabbed the wooden bowl that was not food and dipped his fingers in. When his hand emerged, his fingers had a purple paste on them. He reached up to his face and closed one eye and spread the paste across the lid and drew it out to his hairline. Then, he looked up and covered his undereye in the paste as well.  
  


Intending to ask him what he was doing, Kiba swallowed the large bite of bread that he had not finished chewing. He choked and forced it down, gasping for air and coughing harshly.  
  


“Dude-” Kankuro said, and turned to face him. Kiba could see his concern through watery eyes and waved him off, not trusting himself to speak yet. He grabbed the mason jar and turned to Kankuro, intending to wash down the embarrassment. He tilted it up to his lips and took in a large mouthful of sweet tea when he gagged and fully spat it out all over Kankuro’s face and tank top.   
  


“Oh fuck, I am  _ so sorry _ .” Kiba said hoarsely, throat still sore.   
  


Kankuro silently grabbed the hem of his tank top and took it off before wiping his face with it until finally leveling Kiba with a flat look of disbelief (the paste was smudged horribly) and said, “Watch your fucking mouth.”  
  


The silence that stretched between them was eternal. It lasted longer than the universe had been in existence.  
  


Then, just as Kiba was finishing saying his prayers for the third time because Kankuro was going to kill him, something miraculous happened. Kankuro’s face split into a wide grin and he laughed.  _ Hard _ . Kiba’s face went from abject terror to total confusion to a very hesitant grin. Kankuro was slapping his knee.  
  


“You should have seen your  _ face _ !” He hollered between the laughter. “You looked like you were about to  _ die _ !”  
  


‘ _ I thought I  _ **_was_ ** !’ Kiba wanted to shout, but what came out was, “My  _ face _ ?! What the fuck about this sweet tea! It’s so bitter!”  
  


Kankuro laughed even harder, and it was hard for Kiba not to smile because it sounded so robust and free, like it was the first time Kankuro had had a reason to really laugh in a long time. “That’s because there’s no sugar in it, Kiba.”  
  


Kiba’s smile grew and his heart did a little flippy jump in his chest at the sound of his name on those lips. “Bro, what?” He asked, disbelief tainted by his giddiness.   
  


“It’s unsweet tea, y’know, the proper way to drink tea?” Kankuro teased. He looked so beautiful with smudged paste and laughter on his face.  
  


“You mean the Devil’s Piss?” Kiba shot back. Kankuro laughed again, and it was a very bad time to realize he was once again bare-chested in front of Kiba and seemed to show no sign of remorse about it. Kiba was trying really hard to not count the hairs in the small patch on Kankuro’s chest. He was trying even harder to look away from the soft, pink nipples and the lines of his pecs. He was trying his hardest, though, to avoid drooling.   
  


“Oh, that’s a good one, I’ll have to call it that when I go out to eat next time.”  
  


“A hundred years from now, they won’t know what you’re asking for- recluse.” Kiba said, and then regretted it because he didn’t know Kankuro and he might have a very personal reason to live such a private life.   
  


“This is true,” Kankuro said easily, absolving Kiba of his nerves. “I guess I’ll have to try to get out more often.” He tossed the shirt across the room and Kiba saw it land on a chair that was near a massive pile of sawdust.   
  


“So what’s with…” He trails off, gesturing to the room at large.   
  


“I make puppets for production companies. They use them as stunt doubles, camera stand-ins, lighting checks- things like that.” Kankuro explained. He picked up the tea and took a sip. Kiba wondered criminally if there was anything that could make the man gag.   
  


“And the sawdust?” He asked.  
  


“Cheaper than paint since I always have some on hand from sanding and shaping the puppets.” Kiba looked at him inquisitively.  
  


“How do you make the colors?”  
  


“I use the fruit from the backyard.”   
  


Somewhere in his mind, a lightbulb went off. “So that paste you were putting on your face-”  
  


“Is from the blackberries I picked a few days ago.” Kankuro finished, smiling softly at Kiba. Too softly. It was making it hard to breathe.  
  


“Do you use sawdust for the paste?” He asked.  
  


“No, gross. Only to paint the puppets. And you can just call it makeup. I may be what you people consider a village weirdo but even I am not strange enough to put sawdust on my face.” He said.  
  


“I don’t think you’re a weirdo.” Kiba said earnestly, ignoring the part of his mind that was reminding him that he did think Kankuro was an axe murderer. But that’s not the same as  _ weirdo _ . Semantics.  
  


Kankuro gave him a strange look, like he thought Kiba was pranking him. “Seriously,” Kiba reassured.   
  


Dropping it, Kankuro said, “I juice the berries for paint and then mix the pulp with a lotion to dye it. Press that through a fine strainer, and you get a mostly-natural paste that is skin-friendly. My mom taught me how to do it when we lived up north.”  
  


“So that’s why you drink Devil’s Piss.” Kiba said.  
  


“That it is,” Kankuro replied.  
  


Kiba took another- smaller, safer- bite of bread and chewed it thoughtfully. When he swallowed, without choking this time, he looked at Kankuro and caught sight of a clock over his shoulder. “Holy shit!” He said, standing abruptly. “I’m still supposed to be working!” He had already been here for twenty minutes. He had no idea how he was going to explain this to Kurenai. It seemed death was just waiting for Kiba to fuck up and fall on its knife. Frankly, he was uncertain how he managed to survive this long anyway.   
  


He grabbed his mason jar and the plate of bread and looked at Kankuro’s jar of tea. “Do you want to leave this here so you can finish it? I can take it if you want.”  
  


Kankuro chuckled. “You southerners sure are something else.” He said. “You’re running late but you still wanna help and clean up- your manners run deep for a boy raised in the home of the KKK. I always did wonder where that line was drawn.”  
  


If Kiba thought Shino’s words could slap him, he was out of his fucking league with this guy. Kiba’s mind was in too much of a panic to properly sort through Kankuro’s words. “Did you just call me racist?” He asked, but then his brain decided it needed a lot more answers than that. “Do you want to keep your jar or I can take it?”   
  


Kankuro laughed loudly. “I’ll keep the jar and help you with the dishes.”  
  


Kiba nodded and stepped out of Kankuro’s way so he could lead them to the kitchen. “I’m not racist.” Kiba said. And he realized too late that too much time had passed for that to sound like anything other than a feeble attempt at best. “I mean- yeah, it’s racist in the South but I’m not racist. I’m Japanese. I just live in a red county.” This was getting bad, fast. Kiba wished Kankuro would just kill him already, but instead the man was looking at him, amused. “You’re an asshole,” Kiba said, having caught on, “you  _ knew _ that was gonna sound bad no matter what I said and you let me keep talking.”  
  


Kankuro grinned at him and maybe, for a moment, Kiba fell just a little bit in love.  
  


“I’m Japanese too, on my dad’s side.” Kankuro said, taking the mason jar from Kiba and dumping the tea out in the sink. Kiba stepped up beside him and took the empty jar back from him, turning the water on to help wash the dish. “My mom’s Native American, she taught me how to garden.”   
  


“Where’d she learn how to do that?”  
  


“Her mother taught her when they lived in Maryland. She always kept plants in the home, even in our tiny New York apartment.” Kankuro said, and Kiba could just imagine the space now, with vines reaching toward the floor and barely enough space for it to fit. “Thanks to her, I had the idea that I could make my own paint using different fruits.” Kiba placed the mason jar in the drying rack and turned to grab the bread plate.   
  


“You’re really clever for figuring that out.” He said, soaping the dish. “What made you want to move all the way down here?”  
  


“Honestly? I wanted a place to start over. To be someone completely new in a town where no one would know anything about who I was.”   
  


“Are you on the run?” Kiba asked. He left it just open ended enough to let Kankuro reveal if he was running from himself or the feds. Because you can never be too careful.  
  


Kankuro smiled at this, “I’m on an adventure.” He said.  
  


“What are you looking for?” Kiba asked as he put the dish on the drying rack. He turned around to find Kankuro was very close all of a sudden.   
  


“Something brand new. Be it myself or someone else.” He said, leaning even closer to drop the butter knife into the sink.   
  


This close, Kiba could smell the cedar he caught a hint of the other day. He breathed in as deep and quiet as he could, savoring the scent.   
  


Turning to wash the knife, Kiba tried to escape the intoxicating presence, but Kankuro grabbed his wrist. “Leave it,” He said quietly. “You have to get back to work don’t you?”   
  


Kiba blushed bright red and remembered that, yes, he did have to return to work. Kevin was probably waiting impatiently at his mailbox. “But it’s not good-”  
  


“I think you could benefit from some bad manners.” Kankuro said. Kiba wondered dimly if this man was going to be the death of him. He wondered why he had been so afraid of that prospect earlier.  
  


Kankuro stepped out of Kiba’s space (much to his disappointment) and led the way back to the door. Still shirtless. Like a criminal.   
  


He followed him and they stepped back into the sunlight, squinting slightly after having adjusted to the dim lighting. His skin began warming immediately and he was very grateful for the break Kankuro had provided him. He turned back to Kankuro and was surprised to see a baggy full of jammed bread and a water bottle being handed to him.   
  


“Thank you,” He said. Kankuro smirked and Kiba earnestly wondered how this man kept all of  _ that _ hidden away- he was smart, creative, a total bastard, and so unbelievably gorgeous. With a body like that, Kiba would have The Rock put on a parade in his honor. “Are you expecting a package tomorrow?” He asked.  
  


“I don’t know,” He said, “I never know when anything is going to arrive because I order so many things.”   
  


“Ah, okay,” Kiba said. And without any more excuses to stick around, he walked off the porch and made his way to his truck (thank  _ God _ he had turned it off).   
  


When he climbed inside, he set the snacks and water down. Then, from the porch, he heard Kankuro call out. “I could be expecting  _ you _ tomorrow, if you want!”  
  


Kiba’s face split into a wide grin. “Do you like dogs?” He shouted back.  
  


Kankuro smiled tightly- or it could be the sunlight in his eyes- and said, “Y-yeah!”  
  


Kiba smiled and he looked like the sun, “I’ll come by tomorrow after my route!”  
  


The next day, Kiba would learn Kankuro was  _ horribly, hilariously _ allergic to dogs. Today, though, he was going to learn what it  _ truly _ meant to fear Kurenai.  
  


And he hadn’t even found out why Kankuro had bought all 18 acres.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know if the saw dust or face paste thing is legit, I made it up and I'm not sorry about it. I will, however, apologize if the KKK mention threw you for a loop. I wasn't expecting it either and like John Mulaney said- once you write it into the script, it stays forever.


End file.
